Lemon
by ilona belle
Summary: It occurs to Castle that he might not survive this.


if you speak română: yes, i mean the title _that_ way.

for j. didn't i promise you, puiuț?

* * *

It occurs to Richard Castle that he might not survive this.

Kate Beckett is obscenely, impossibly hot. He knew that long before they got together. But she's also a little bit dirty. And he'd suspected, and hoped, but never really realized just how much fun she likes to have with sex. Not until suddenly she was having it with _him_ and his sex life became a kind of agonizing paradise he wasn't really ready for.

Some women tease. She tortures. And now that they live together, it never, ever ends.

His last birthday had involved a glitzy, fabulous party in a hotel ballroom. Great time. Lots of fun. But the party had vanished from his mind during the limo ride back to his place, when the doors shut, closing them alone in the backseat, and she licked her lips. She knelt between his legs, unzipped his fly and spent the whole trip getting him embarrassingly worked up. He had to hastily, awkwardly tuck himself back in before the driver came around to open the door and he accidentally showed the world the throbbing evidence of exactly what she could do with her mouth.

Though to be fair, the minute the door to his loft clicked shut behind them, Kate pushed him down onto the couch and finished what she'd started.

Then there was the time he was on the phone with Paula. It was a mundane call, walking through his schedule for the next few months and finalizing details of a few press releases. He was leaning on the kitchen counter, watching the oven timer, waiting for dinner to finish cooking as they talked, when Kate walked by. He thought she was just getting water. She wasn't. He spent the rest of the phone call pressing his hand to the receiver, biting his fist, trying to pay attention to his oblivious publicist while Kate's head bobbed up and down slowly and the tightness between his legs got unbearable. He tried to pull her off, but the effort was fairly half-hearted, and all she did was twitch an eyebrow up and swirl her tongue over him slowly, drawing a deep groan from his chest.

He'd done a pretty good job staying quiet. At least he thought so. Until he walked into Paula's office the next day and she smirked and told him _you _really_ seemed to be enjoying that phone call, Ricky._ He didn't know how to tactfully say that his hot hot _hot _girlfriend had simply knelt down and unzipped him before he could move.

* * *

He doesn't know if it's because she has to maintain such a professional facade in the working world, or maybe that her serious adult life started painfully early, but she gets off, she _really_ gets off on making him lose control. And on letting him reduce her to a quivering, pleading mess. He'd used handcuffs before her, yes. But he'd never realized that it's better once the giddy, initial shock wears off. It gets so much better. Kate Beckett isn't at all inhibited in bed. She likes tying him up. She likes being tied up. And it's not just _fun_ with her, the mild novelty tinged with self-consciousness, like he used to think it was. It's dark and heavy and agonizing and rough, oh _god_ she likes it when he gets rough. And when he gets her to her breaking point, she's all rigid, taut muscles and shallow breathing and throaty moans and high-pitched squeals. Her thighs squeeze around his waist and she wrenches at the cuffs and swears and falls apart spectacularly.

It really is extraordinary.

* * *

But he still has to write, which means he still has to research. He _really_ loves researching sex scenes now, though he knows Kate's begun to (correctly) suspect that him running a hand over her hip and murmuring _wanna help me write a book?_ is really just a less pathetic way for him to say _let's have sex right now._ But she still says _yes_.

Research also means finding fresh new methods of peril in which to tangle Nikki and Rook. Which is why he's currently in his desk chair, his hands taped securely to the arms, his feet taped to the base. It's awkward. He'd been toying with the idea of a murderer taping someone to a desk chair and shoving them into traffic, or out a window - for some reason the title _Corporate Heat_ has been rolling around his head - and he thought maybe Rook could get trapped the same way. So he had decided to see if he could escape, handed his mother the duct tape, and sweet-talked her into taping him to the chair before she left for the evening.

It's proving difficult. He doesn't want to break his desk chair, after all. So he's focusing on his feet. Maybe if he can get them free, he can move the chair? Rook could roll his way to safety. That might be fun.

He hears the front door open and footsteps. Louder than his mother's, more deliberate than Alexis'. "Kate?"

"Yeah." He hears her cross the living room, and then she's leaning into the office, regarding him with an amused expression. "I really hope this is for a book."

"It is." He finally manages to pry one foot loose. "Ah! Got it. This might work."

She rolls her eyes and stalks away. He can hear her in the kitchen, hears the faucet running. By the time she comes back to the office he's wrenched his other foot free. Victory. He beams up at her. "Got my feet out."

She half-smiles, that teasing twist of her lips that he loves so much. "That calls for congratulations, then."

In a few steps she crosses the room and stoops to his level, trailing her fingers over the line of his jaw. She leans in, her breath painting his lips with slow, delicious heat. "Well _done._"

She kisses him slowly, teasing, her lips flirting with his. He's going to do this more often, if this is the reward.

* * *

He kisses her back gently, patiently, but there's a trickle of heat running over her skin and _gentle_ and _patient_ aren't quite what she wants. He's adorable, yes. But he's tied up and that's really, really doing it for her right now, in a lot of ways. And his hair is all ruffled and his legs are spread and in those jeans, those _jeans_, he just -

Kate pulls back before he wants her to, biting back the smile as he tries to follow her lips. She trails her hand gently over his thigh, waiting for the reaction she knows is coming. He's resisting, or trying to, but his leg muscles are taut and tight under her touch. He knows exactly what she's going to do.

He holds it together until her palm slides over his crotch, pressing firmly over the inseam. He hisses, clenching his fists. "Kate - Kate, this - it's - "

"Having trouble getting free, Mr. Castle?" She bites her lip, tugging his zipper down slowly. His breath is coming faster. He likes it when she calls him _Mr. Castle_. "Is it _hard?_"

He lets out a strangled noise when her fingers slip inside and curl around him. He's already hot and thick under her hand, the blood surging through his skin, and she's flush with the helpless look in his eyes, the unconscious press of his torso back against the chair, like he thinks he can escape. It sparks something in her, something dark and feral, because even after all this time, she can still make him hard without even _trying_ and it's a kind of control she gets off on. It's always been like this with them, push and pull, challenge and tease, chase and catch, and she thinks it's never ever going to get boring.

Castle grits his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut. The noise he lets out is pained when she leans over him. She gives him a second to breathe while she licks her lips, and with one last stroke to his thigh, she dips her head and takes him into her mouth.

Kate feels the violent tremor go through him, hears him gasping _oh god oh god_. He's hot in her mouth, solid and heavy. She traces her tongue lightly around him, gently rubbing with her fist, and already his hips are moving. She hums against him, pressing him back in his seat, and sucks slowly. His upper body strains, his arms rigid as he tries to touch her. But the tape holds his hands still and he groans desperately. "Kate - _fuck_, Kate -"

She swirls her tongue, sucking, licking, gently massaging his thighs, drawing out the tightness in his body. His muscles are quivering, clenched hard underneath her, and as she hollows her cheeks, she can feel the answering groan deep in his chest. She knows that response, the jerky tensing of his abs, his thighs, like the pressure is pouring through him. He's close, and he's trying to hang on. She wants to break him.

She relaxes her throat as much as she can and swallows, squeezing him in. He's babbling now, a long string of begging and cursing escaping him, and he tries to sit forward, pressing against her hand on his stomach. He's almost there.

She pulls her lips over him, flicking her tongue over the the tip, and without warning she takes him in deep again, sucking firmly, again and again and again until his whole body goes rigid.

With a sharp jerk he loses control, groaning _hard_ as he releases into her mouth, pulsing and hot and desperate and perfect.

She sits back, panting, wiping her mouth on her sleeve. "You okay there, Castle?"

He lets out a guttural noise in response, slumped back in his chair. He's sucking in air, fingers curled weakly around the arms of his chair. He gets incoherent after a really good orgasm. He usually ends up half-conscious after she blows his...mind.

"I should change," she tells him, her fingertips brushing over his knuckles. "You see if you can get free."

"You're not going to help?"

"Pretty sure I just did."

He coughs. "Come _on_, Kate. Just untie me."

She brushes a light kiss to his cheek. "I would never disturb your creative process, Castle."

"You're evil."

She runs her hand over his chest before she leaves him, heading for the bedroom. "I'll be waiting for you."

END.

* * *

Romanian vocabulary:

lămâie = lemon  
la muie = fellatio


End file.
